The Locker
by Starcrossd
Summary: A boy is shut up in a locker over the weekend, but maybe it was meant to be. His name isn't mentioned in the story, but if you watch IZ you'll know who it is. Angst with a happy ending! Gasp! R&R please! (Soundtrack: Any suggestions?)


The Locker  
  
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Friday - 5:30 pm: The only visible light was from the vents of the door, reflecting eerily off his glasses. How long had he been in there now? And hour? Two, maybe? Skool was out long before; pretty soon someone would come to shut off the lights. A custodian or someone. Surely they would hear him kicking the door and let him out.  
  
The lights went off with a soft 'click', plunging him into complete darkness. Panicking, he began to kick the door furiously.  
  
"Hello?! Hey! Let me out! I'm in here!" No one heard his frantic cries, for the lighting system was automated. Everyone had gone home for the weekend; which left him alone, in the dark.  
  
6:30 pm: After about an hour he'd been reduced to smacking the insides of the metallic walls in hopes that someone would hear him. Eyes burning with anger and loss of hope for himself, he gave up. What was the use? Seemingly, no one cared he wasn't home. Not his dad and surely not his sister. They were both too caught up in their passions for science and television to even notice when he was there.  
  
The burning behind his spectacles grew until tears fell onto the sleeve of his trench coat. Why had they done this to him? All he did was check the band room for ghosts. What else could have been haunting that xylophone? Those kids, the ones that did this to him, they'd called him weird. They'd called him insane, then hacked into a locker and shut him up in it. No one even bothered to ask who it was screaming from the metal cell. They knew, they just didn't care.  
  
10:30 pm: Five hours now, he was getting tired. Questions began to ravage his mind. Why hadn't anyone come back to let him out? Didn't they know it was Friday? Whose locker was this, anyway? It was empty, save his worn out body and a single backpack which he didn't bother. It wouldn't matter, he couldn't see anyway. Probably just some books or forgotten homework.  
  
2:30 am: Nine hours and his legs hurt. The locker was only so big and he could barely move. Slowly, fitfully, he fell asleep. Memories of the children laughing plagued his dreams.  
  
Saturday - 8:00 am: Mercifully, the boy slept the rest of the night to be awakened by his scythe-like hair caught in the bag hook. Fourteen and a half hours. Those damned kids.  
  
11:00 am: Seventeen hours. Knees hugged to his chest to create the illusion that he had more room, he waited. More questions began to bug him. What was in that bag? Why hadn't it been taken home? Most kids take home their stuff. It was likely that he was so bored this was the only thing to do, think about that stupid bag. Either that or he didn't want to cry again. It was rather humiliating, even though he was alone.  
  
12:30 pm: How long now? Yes, eighteen hours and thirty minutes. Boredom was driving him mad. The contents of that bag were a mystery to him, of course, but sooner or later he'd probably find out. Still, it wasn't this person's fault he was there in the first place and he had no right to violate their privacy.  
  
Angry from boredom, he began kicking the door once more. After a bit of this, his aim faltered and he kicked the bag. A loud 'BANG' rang throughout the hallways, a gun had gone off.  
  
(A/N: GASP!)  
  
A hole had appeared in the door of the metal chamber, a faint light peeking through and landing on the boy's chest in the shape of an 'O'. What if that gun had been turned around? Eyes widened, he shuddered.  
  
"That was a gun...that could've killed me." With this he looked down at the beam of light on his chest, shrieked, and drew away from it as if it were a live laser.  
  
"Who brings a gun to skool?! Unless...No...I wouldn't have come upon something like this.Or maybe I have. Maybe this is the one time I can really save people. I can stop this. I can prevent this person from ever using this gun! But first, I need to get out of here. If the owner of this locker comes back and sees that I've found out, who knows that they'll do? I need to get out of here now." The words echoed about him like the Bell of Obviousness. Yet, how was he to do it?  
  
Still trembling a bit, he began to think of plans. Most of them ludicrous, and would never work, but one keep ringing through his mind. It said 'It'll work, I swear it will!' That plan was to pick up the gun, and shoot the lock. Now, he did want to get out, but he also didn't want to hurt anyone. Including him. At such a young age, guns were a bit frightening to the boy and it didn't help that he'd come reeeally close to being shot only moments before.  
  
"No. A skool shooting is not going to happen if I can prevent it! I'm getting out of here. I'm getting out of here right now." Carefully, he reached into the bag, but then drew his hand away quickly. "Fingerprints..Hmm..." Instead of just reaching into the bag, he used it like a glove. The outline of the firearm was easy enough to pick out, and there was already a large, singed hole in the bag. Why not try this again, eh?  
  
As carefully as humanly possible, he held up the clothed gun to the lock, braced his arms as best as possible, and pulled the trigger. It hit the target, but kicked back and hit him in the face. As hard as he'd tried, he was just not strong enough to prevent this and was knocked back into the locker wall, dropping the firearm.  
  
Dazed, he looked down to realize he was bleeding. Shocked and afraid that he'd accidentally shot himself, he yelped, then noticed it was coming from right under his right eye where the gun had kicked back and smacked him. It hurt, but at least he wasn't dead. Suddenly, he saw the door was open and leapt out of the locker merrily, even though he had a large bruise forming on his cheek.  
  
"Yes! I did it! I'm not dead!" Too bad there wasn't anyone around to rejoice with him, he was having fun and doing a bit of a victory dance there in the dimly lit hallway.  
  
"Now...who am I supposed to tell about this?" Talking to himself was a bit of a normal thing for him, seeing as though he didn't have any friends. The deadly firearm was halfway out of the backpack, gleaming in the sunlight that streamed in through classroom windows. Just looking at it filled him with dread.  
  
Hair all a mess, he picked up the bag and began carrying it down to the main office. No one would be in there, of course, but he still needed to take that gun somewhere and he wasn't about to take it home.  
  
The door was unlocked; he slipped in and hoped there wouldn't be an alarm to go off. There wasn't, thank God, so he stepped quietly into the nurse's office. Kids never willingly went in there, it was the perfect place! Sure, the skool nurse was a complete moron, but even she should know what to do with a gun.  
  
As quietly as he could, the boy wrote a note that said to check the owner of the locker with two holes in it, and set the bag down on the table with the gun barely peeking out. The only reason he didn't leave a signature was fear that someone would accuse him of owning the gun. It was better to secretly save the day than be blamed for ruining it.  
  
Monday - 4:30 pm: At skool, the owner of the locker had been arrested. They also admitted to owning the gun and of having intended to use it. Though, our hero had not been mentioned at all this day. Nobody said anything about how they found out.  
  
Tuesday - 12:15 pm: Skool was cancelled for the day due to police investigation. The boy stayed home to watch the news, maybe they'd mention him.  
  
4:20 pm: They had! Not his name, sadly, they didn't even know who he was. But they had said something about him! The skool nurse had an interview and referred to the anonymous resource as a 'blessing in disguise'. Maybe this was true.  
  
9:45 pm: The boy lay in bed, staring out his window at the moon. It was half full, but very bright. Would he ever tell anyone? Could he prove them wrong, show that he wasn't a loser? Show them he wasn't insane? Of course he could...but fame is overrated.  
  
With a contented sigh, the boy closed his eyes and fell asleep, the moonlight gleaming off his glasses, which were rather askew seeing as though he hadn't taken them off. No worries, for now, he was the hero. And nobody knew it but him.   
  
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(A/N: I hope you enjoyed, review please.) 


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